


The Guild

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 10:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15411261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sam and Dean have been fine on their own. True, they've been picked up by the police a few times, but nothing they couldn't handle. Enter The Guild, a group of professionals and para-professionals, dedicated to help Hunters.Starts in Season 2, Episode 7 (Usual Suspects)





	The Guild

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction. Ever. First story, for that matter. I'd love feedback, especially critical feedback. 
> 
> This story popped into my head a few weeks ago. I'm a law student who needed a bit of a break from the law. Just re-watched the GodFather when the thought struck me, Sam and Dean need a Tom Hagen (the family lawyer). Think of all the help a lawyer on their side would provide… especially in Season 2/3. 
> 
> Not sure how far this story will go, but I have ideas/plot bunnies set for Season 5, so it could definitely be in it for the long haul.
> 
> Let me know what you think and if you think the premise works.
> 
> Thanks in advance!

"Under what name?" a frazzled man in his late-thirties spoke into the phone cradled against his ear. His hands were busy juggling a Styrofoam coffee cup while trying to pick up an incoming fax. Damn, state courts are getting slower, he thought as he picked up the fax, scanning the record for any information that could further incarcerate his suspect. Dean Winchester got around, he mused, reading the sheet. Credit card fraud, breaking and entering, petty theft, grave de-- "The hell," he muttered -- grave desecration. Man, the shit kids got into these days. All of these crimes were pretty routine for a small-time criminal, he mused, well, most of them. That grave desecration charge was still pretty damn puzzling. Nothing on this sheet seemed to offer any explanation for Karen Giles' murder. He was getting toward the end of the record... 

"Oh yeah, that's my favorite," he grumbled into the phone, his mind not entirely focused on the conversation as he continued to read the record, "possible IDs in three states." Joy, he thought, grunting. 

He finally was nearing the end of the sheet, bringing the coffee to his lips, and damn did he need caffeine right about now, when the last charge stopped him cold. "I gotta call you back," he sputtered, absentmindedly putting the coffee cup on the closest desk walking toward the interrogation room. This case just got interesting.

He neared the interrogation room, stole a look at his partner and mentally braced himself, opening the door.

"Well, first I thought you were just stepping up your game," he said, walking in and taking a seat across from his suspect, a one Dean Winchester, wanted in multiple states for "Credit card fraud, breaking and entering, and this one..." he stopped for some dramatic effect, "Grave desecration... this one puzzled me." His perp snorted, leaning back in his chair, shadows hiding his face.

"But still, these are a long way from murder. Then, I get this fax from St. Louis," he explains, holding up the paper. "Pretty interesting read, if you ask me. Says you're suspected of torturing and murdering a young woman. But, looks like no one could pin it on you, of course, because according to his," he waves the paper smirking, "you died there."

His perp said nothing. Still leaning back in his chair. Brooding, Sheridan thought, maybe thinking of an excuse, an alibi, an explanation. Sheridan tried to search the man's face again, but he remained staunchly in the shadows.

"But, I gotta tell you something. You look pretty damn healthy to me."

Sheridan stood up, walking around the desk to stand next to his perp, leaning against the table and crossing his arms. "So, now we know Karen Giles isn't the first person you murdered."

From this vantage point Sheridan could see the perp's face and it was stone cold. No emotion. Damn, it made him sick. He dropped his arms and leaned close to the other man, "But I can guarantee you she'll be the last."

He straightened, trying to read his perp's face once more, and walked out of the room, maybe a little too fast. Glad to be out of his presence. 

\------

Jane Franson walked into the police station with the air of someone who knew what they were doing. She walked past the front desk, flashing a smile, holding out her Bar ID, right into the main police room. This case was going to be tricky, she thought. From the brief run down she got on drive over, her clients were wanted in multiple states for mostly petty crimes and one charge of murder, icing on the cake was the torture and murder of another woman in this town. Even better, Dean Winchester was caught red-handed at the crime scene, idiot. She was going to have to work some magic this week.

"Hey, lady, you can't just walk in here," a man sputtered, rising from his desk and pulling her out of her thoughts.

"Actually, I can," she smiled, holding out her Bar ID again. "My name's Jane Franson. I'm here as counsel for Dean and Sam Winchester. I heard they're being held without any legal representation. Not very above-board if you ask me Detective..." she glanced at his badge, "Sheridan". "Now, if you'd so kindly point me to the room they're being held in. I'd like to speak to my clients in private."

"District hasn't appointed counsel yet," the man, Sheridan she reminded herself, said, squinting his eyes at her in suspicion.

"Oh, I'm not a public defender, Detective," she explained, "I've been retained to represent these boys by an interested third party. So, if you'd be so kind..." she finished smiling, raising an eyebrow when the detective didn't respond. 

"An interested third party..." Sheridan muttered, looking past her for a moment, seeming to get a bit lost before remembering where he was, "Listen here, lady. These boys have just been caught red-handed at a murder scene. I'm not really sure what this 'interested third-party'," he sneered, adding air quotes to the last few words, "thinks they're going to pull, but we've got ourselves an open-and-shut case here. Maybe you should just save yourself the time and head back to wherever you came from." 

"Oh, is that so, Detective?" she asked, leaning into his space. She brought her hand close to his face, probably closer than polite, but she stopped being nice as soon as his condescending tone made an entrance, and held up a finger. "First, I believe you only discovered one of my clients at the crime scene, not both. Get your facts straight. Second," she raised another finger, "You have no solid proof that Mr. Winchester committed the crime. No video evidence or eye witnesses have come forward. For all you know, he stumbled upon a crime someone else committed. And, third," another finger up, "You may be able to hold Dean Winchester, but you can't hold Sam Winchester. He hasn't violated any laws." Sheridan glared at her, lips thinning in anger. Looks like he definitely was hoping she hadn't realized that Sam was being held unlawfully. Tough shit. 

"Now, detective," she over enunciated each word, "would you be so kind."

"Follow me," he barked, turning on his heel. 

She smirked, following him at a slightly slower pace. They reached the first interrogation room where she could see a woman questioning one of her suspects. Sam Winchester, she thought, if the shaggy hair was anything to go by. 

"Detective, why is my client being questioned without legal representation?" she asked in annoyance.

"We read him his rights. Kid knows he doesn't have to answer them. Hell if I know why he's talking. But, he's all yours," he said, motioning to the man in the room. He opened the door, "Detective Ballard, stop the questioning. Kid's lawyer is here." 

Sheridan didn't know who was more surprised the kid or Ballard, that he had just interrupted the questioning. 

"But district hasn't appointed..." she began.

"Yeah, not a public defender," he explained. Jane, who had walked in behind the detective spoke up,

"Hello Detective Ballard, my name's Jane Franson," she said smiling, holding her hand out to the other woman, who quickly shook it. "I'm Sam's legal counsel. Before any further questioning, I'd like to speak with him in private. If you'd be so kind..." she finished gesturing to the door. 

Ballard looked at Sheridan for approval. He nodded once. She looked back at Sam and sighed, pushing herself off the table, "He's all yours counsel. You've got ten minutes." She walked past Sheridan, who was partially blocking the door, and exited the room.

Sheridan looked at Jane again, lips thin. 

"Ten minutes. No longer," he snapped.

"Understood Detective. Now, if you don't mind," she said, gesturing toward the door, an eyebrow raised.

He sneered, turned on his heel, and walked out.

Jane smiled at Sam and closed the door behind the detective.

"Hello Sam, it's nice to meet you. My name's Jane," she began, holding out her hand. He looked at her in confusion, and then looked at her hand.

"Who are you?" he asked confused.

She smiled, "I thought I was just introducing myself."

He swallowed and shook his head, "No, no. I mean, yea. Nice to meet you." He shook her hand. "I mean, why are you here?"

"I'm here to represent you. A bit slow on the uptake today, hm?" she teased.

"About that," he began, "if you weren't appointed by District, then how can you be here? We don't have the money to pay for a lawyer." 

"No need to worry about that Sam," she said, finally taking a seat, setting her briefcase on the table. She opened it up and began rummaging through it a bit, biting her bottom lip slightly in concentration, her face lit up when she found the right document. "This might explain matters a bit," she explained, sliding a piece of paper across the table to him. 

He looked down at the paper, brow wrinkled in confusion, and picked it up.

"What is this? A Hunter's Guild? How... how do you know about hunting?" he questioned, looking up at her, clearly confused. 

She smiled and made a gesture imploring him to read further. He swallowed and glanced down at the paper, beginning to read. "We, the legal professionals of the Hunter's Guild, do hereby swear to assist in any capacity any hunter or hunter's friend in need of legal aid."

"I... I've never heard of a Hunter's Guild," he stated, looking questioningly.

"Yea," she laughed, "I was pretty surprised when I was researching you and your brother in our database. With all the shit you've gotten yourselves in, I've got no idea how we missed you. We usually try and keep an ear to the ground on these sort of things. Whenever the police start sniffing around a hunt, we try and monitor the situation. Usually we can circumvent the police ever needing to question the hunters, but... Somehow you and your brother flew straight under our radar. Your name never appears on any of our databases, none of them. You've never consulted a doctor, lawyer, damn... not even a dentist. Honestly, how did you guys do that? I can't begin to think of the lies you had to spin. To be a fly on the wall of any hospital you walked... well, hopefully walked into after a hunt," she finished, smiling lazily. 

He swallowed again. Guess this was a bit hard to handle, she thought. 

"How'd you find us, then?" he asked, brows knit in suspicion. 

"You've got my brother to thank for that," she answered. "Did you know that you boys have an FBI tag? Good thing, too." Damn good thing, she thought. 

"He just started with his department last month. He works for Homeland Security. Did a preliminary check of their database for any suspicious tags. He saw your brother's name and has apparently heard of him. A friend of his from school is a hunter too and a friend of a friend of yours, Bobby Singer. Anyways, this guy, Gavin or something, was telling my brother about the time your brother killed a wendigo. Guess the story stuck with him and when your name popped up, bells went off in my brother's head. He gave me a call and asked me to check out the case. So, your brother supposedly died in St. Louis, but is all of a sudden in Maryland, still alive and kicking. Well, if that's not natural, not sure what is," she explained, speaking fast and glancing at her watch. 

"So, we only have a few minutes left," she noted. "You need to tell me everything you know about this case. As soon as I'm done, I'll talk with your brother."

Sam looked a bit shell-shocked. 

"Wait, you mean... there's a whole society of people who aren't hunters, but know about hunting?" he asked dumbstruck. 

She looked at him in confusion, "What? Do you think all of us are cut out to be hunters? Sorry, sweetie, but some of us aren't very good at the actual hunting bit. Think the guild started about 20 or so years ago. Lot of us are children of hunters who wanted out, but could never really get out. And, really, like I said, hunters more than anyone need a group of professionals who won't hear their story and think they're crazy."

"Yeah... Yeah, that makes sense," he said quietly, nodding. 

"Anyways, I really, actually, do need you to tell me about this case. What were you guys hunting?" she asked quickly, noting the time. 

Sam nodded and quickly explained how Anthony, then Karen Giles were killed. 

"Huh, invisible killer?" she quipped. He nodded and continued. Explaining how Anthony had had a nightmare the day before he died. How he thought the pale specter of a woman was standing at the foot of his bed. How he and Dean had snuck into Anthony's office the night before and found a paper covered in the same word.

Jane took the paper she had given Sam before and flipped it over, handing him a pen. "Can you write down the word you saw?" she asked.

"Yea, it was 'danashulps'," he replied, writing it down. 

"Huh," she puzzled and furiously began different combinations of the word, "Is it an anagram?"

"We're not sure," he replied, "Never got that far."

"So, what happened next?" she asked, still playing with the word.

"Dean got bored," Sam deadpanned.

Jane's head shot up, eyebrows raised, "Bored?"

"Yea, he couldn't sit still while I was trying to unlock Anthony's password. Said he was going to go question Karen again. But, he didn't make it in time."

The door opened, ending Sam's story, "Time's up," Ballard interrupted, walking into the room, noting the open briefcase, Sam's disgruntled expression, and the piece of scrap paper in front of Jane covered in gibberish. "You can either stay in here while we question him or speak to his brother, your choice."

"Sam, as your legal counsel, I advise you not to answer any question," Jane stated calmly, picking up the scrap paper, sticking it in her briefcase, and snapping it shut. Sighing, she stood up looked at Ballard and motioned to Sam, "The floor's yours Detective. I'd like to speak to the other Mr. Winchester now."

\-----

Oh joy, Jane thought when Detective Sheridan made another appearance, walking her over to the other interrogation room where Dean was being held. The, thankfully, short walk was tense and silent. Honestly, she thought, she really wasn't sure what his problem was. She hadn't run into many other detectives with such a foul mood. Usually detectives, if a bit crass, were pretty nice guys. You have to be in this business. But, this one just gave her a funny feeling. She didn't like it and she didn't like him. Just keep your eyes peeled and focus on the job, she thought. Dude was probably having a bad day. 

The detective stopped in front of a different interrogation room. This one held an older looking man, probably around her age, maybe a bit younger, she thought. And, my was he pretty to look at. 

"Thank you Detective. I'll take it from here," she told Sheridan, turning away from him to knock on the door. She didn't hear a reply, but when she looked back over her shoulders Sheridan was gone and goosebumps pimpled her skin. He definitely gave her an uneasy feeling. After knocking on the door once, she entered, smiling at the man in the room. He looked up at her, smirking lazily, leaning back in his chair. 

"Ah, looks like it's my lucky day," he drawled, eyes travelling down her form.

She smiled at him, "Mr. Winchester, hello, my name's Jane Franson. I'm your appointed legal representation." She closed the door, walked over to the table and took a seat. She placed her briefcase on the table and opened it up. 

"I just spoke with your brother. Very interesting story he told me," she began, searching for the paper she had given Sam earlier. 

Dean snorted, "I'm sure it was, lady."

She smiled again, "So, an invisible killer, huh?"

"Yeah, looks like it," he sighed, leaning his head over so he could pinch the bridge of his nose. "Listen lady, I appreciate that you're trying to help, really, but we don't need any legal representation. My brother was in Pre-Law, that'll be enough for us."

Jane had just found the Hunter's Guild form she had shown Sam earlier (honestly, she had to clean out her briefcase) when she heard Dean's comment. 

"Ah, yes, I'm sure he's qualified," she quipped. 

Dean glared at her, defensive. "He's smart. He can handle this."

"Yes, I'm sure he could," she agreed, "But, why test that theory when I can help?"

She took out the Hunter's Guild form and slid it across the table to Dean.

"This might help convince you," she added.

He looked at her, raising an eyebrow in question, then back down at the paper, then snapped his head back up to her.

"What is this?" he demanded.

"Just read it," she said, exasperated. 

He looked at her, held her gaze and stared her down. Honestly, it was a bit unsettling. His eyes were very green, she thought, trying not to let his stare unnerve her. Finally, he nodded and looked back down at the paper. 

He took a few minutes, reading over the sheet. He was definitely being more thorough than Sam, she thought. Maybe he's not as shocked, she wondered. 

He finished reading and leveled another gaze at her, "How come we haven't heard of this?" he asked. 

She signed, "Honestly, I don't know. Not sure how we ever missed you. I was telling your brother, I don't know how you survived in the real world without getting thrown into some crazy house."

"So, how come we're hearing about this now? Why all of a sudden?"

"Luck, I guess," she quipped.

"No such thing," he countered.

"Ah, well, blame it on little brothers, "she confessed.

He looked at her, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. 

"My brother works for Homeland Security just got appointed a new position with more database access. He did a scan of criminal records, looking for any suspicious or supernatural tags. Your name popped up and I guess he's heard about you recently, a hunter friend of his Gavin, at least I think that's his name, knows you from a mutual friend Bobby Singer. Guess you have one hell of a wendigo story that stuck in his head. Last time they got together for drinks Gavin couldn't stop talking about you. When your name popped up as being involved in a suspicious murder-suicide, well, his interest was piqued. He flagged your name, so that any future reports would be directed to him. And, as luck would have it, your name popped up this morning in connection to another murder in Maryland. So, how can a dead man be accused of murder after his death? Pretty unnatural if you ask me," she finished explaining. 

Dean whistled. "Shit."

"Yeah, luck... like I said," she quipped.

"Nah, I liked blaming it on little brothers better. They usually deserve it too," he smirked at her.

"Agreed," she smiled. "So, do you believe me?"

"Not really, but what the hell."

She looked at him. Really looked at him. Noting the bags under his eyes, his slumped shoulders, and hard eyes. Yeah, if tables were turned she probably wouldn't believe herself either. 

"No problem. You don't have to believe me. Just have to trust me," she said, noting how his eyes met hers briefly.

"So, like I said, invisible killer, huh?" she asked.

"That's what we think," he sighed, looking at the paper again, just noticing the indentations, like something was harshly written on the other side. He flipped it over.

"Huh, Sammy's quick," he muttered and noted the different variations of the word. "I think it's got to be an anagram too... but, I'm not sure if it's a name." He reads over the different variations of the word. "Hey, hand me a pen," he asks, holding out his hand as far as the handcuffs will allow. She hands one to him and he begins to scribble alongside her notes.

"Maybe it's not a name," he mutters. 

"Uh, do me a favor? Do you recognize any of these words, you know, local names, places, anything like that?" he asks sliding the paper back over to her. 

She glances down noting the different variations. The scrap paper now reads:

DNA SHULPS  
DAN SHULPAS  
LAND PUSHAS  
SUPASH LAND  
PUSH LANDAS  
PLUSH DANAS

She looks it over, reading and re-reading the names.

"I don't know. I'm not really from around here. But, I think I passed an Ashland street on the way over."

He looks at her and nods, sliding the paper back over to him. He rips a piece off and starts writing again.

"Listen, will you be able to see Sam again? Can you give him this?" he asks.

She looks at him, her brow drawn in confusion, "Yeah, no problem. But... What are you planning?" she asks.

"Not sure if you want to know," he admits.

"Yeah, I probably don't," she agrees, nodding. She paused a beat. "Nah, I definitely want to know," she admits, a large smile spreading across her face.

He looks at her, leans in, and smirks. This'll be easier with her help, he thinks, and begins explaining his plan.

**Author's Note:**

> So, should I continue? What do you think? I'd love any and all feedback!
> 
> Thanks!  
> nucci


End file.
